Needles
by Pastime Activity
Summary: AU. My first friend died when I was six. My second and last friend died yesterday. I am not Freak nor Boy. I am Harry Potter, the wizard.
1. Prologue

**Needles**

**-**

**Prologue**

**-**

My first friend was killed when I was six. The murder played repeatedly in my fragile mind of a child many months later, forced me to relive the delirious moment.

His name was Kei, Key or Kal... I don't remember although I'm sure his name must lie somewhere between my internal landscape. He was black and therefore, was isolated by a great part of the school kids. He was called Negro, Dirt or Black Scum, just like the way I was named Freak. We knew very well that we befriended only because we never insulted each other. Nevertheless, he was nice and a far cry from everyone around me, including the teachers.

We sat together in classes. We shared with each other the meager meals our caretakers packed for us. We hugged and kissed like any of the local children.

Then he was shot.

I saw nothing but the pool of crimson liquid slowly forming under my friend's still form. I heard nothing but the resounding shock of the bullet that lodged itself into his back. I smelled nothing but the putrid metallic odor. I stood there, unmoving.

Red invaded my senses. Bile rose to my throat.

I vomited, tears streaming down my cheeks and mucus dripping from my nose.

* * *

My second and last friend was killed yesterday. My eleventh birthday was only a day before that.

She was my late birthday present from Hagrid – the down-to-Earth Groundkeeper of Hogwarts – who clarified my freakiness and introduced me to the Wizarding World. I named her after a goddess – Hedwig.

She nibbled my ears the moment Hagrid brought her to me. She liked to ruff her snowy feather adorably whenever she wanted my attention. She listened contentedly to my stories, never commented out of turn or criticized me. For all things she'd ever done, I was deeply thankful.

Today, I wake up to find a ball of crimson feather lying next to me, the dull yellow irises piercing through me.

If I were an emotional child, I would scream my throat raw at the sight and then cry for many days. Unfortunately, Fate never made me such a person.

I hold Hedwig in my hands. Bloodstained feathers stick to my skin. I keep my head up not to be caught in her lifeless gaze.

I hold her as digging up Aunt Petunia's backyard. I don't want her body to be dirtied by anything but the ground where I'm going to bury her, so I hold her tightly, cradling her in my chest. It's the air I don't know how to deal with, because it's also polluted.

I gather my newest purchases and my notebook into a large backpack. My legs stagger supporting its weight but I'm still walking forward. Ignoring Uncle Vernon's shout, ignoring Aunt Petunia's shriek.

The door closed softly behind my back.

* * *

London stretches its already tired arms to welcome another stray cat.

I'm now living approximately two miles from The Leaky Cauldron, under a tattered Verandah's roof, hidden from people's pry and the local gang's clutch. I pondered for sometimes about withdrawing from my trust vault to afford a proper place but finally decided against it, as the budget will be the only money I can touch for the next seven years in Hogwarts.

I wake up at exactly six o'clock in the morning thanks to my internal alarm clock. Fastening my backpack, I then enter the shabby restaurant nearby to clean myself and gather scrap food for the day. Nobody notices me – I don't know why – as if I had a Notice-Me-Not note sticking to my back. I wonder time to time why this hasn't happened in Privet Drive – that would save me a lot of trouble.

I return to the Verandah's rook and sit under it for hours, staring at anything that catches my eyes until they hurt from staying open for too long. I still keep my taped glasses, if not in honor of my father. I can't see much with it anyway. My eyesight, without proper prescription, is slowly deteriorating.

At nights, with the flickering streetlight, I read my schoolbooks many times. I can practically recite them backward after two weeks. They help me remind myself about who I am. Not Freak, not Boy, but Harry Potter, the wizard.

I also practice my spells. I can turn a stone into a kettle without the wand movement, which I quickly found useless. With sheer intention and determination, you can get everything you want.

_Can I get my friends back?_

The introduction of the Potions textbook sounds obscure and ambitious. It says I can brew potions that can cure boils, heal disease, control people's mind, and even stop Death. I keep pondering about the last one.

_Can I stop my friends' death?_

Even now, as I'm sitting on the Hogwarts Express in a locked compartment, those questions plague my mind.

* * *

_Reviews are appreciated._


	2. Oath

**Needles**

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**Chapter 1**

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The rational part of my mind is screaming at me to be calm and collected, that the crowd below me is only upper classmen and that there's nothing in a tattered Sorting Hat to be worried about. The irrational part yells back, saying that a normal person who spent a good ten years of life confined in a dark, claustrophobia-inducing cupboard would drop dead by this moment. Despite the debate, my body isn't responding well. My knees are shaking and sweat is dripping down my temples.

The slightly distorted image that phases through my glazed eyes showed Draco Malfoy, who's standing snobbishly near my left side. As if hearing my hard breath, the blonde turns to me and immediately snatches my hand, makes me almost jump in fright.

'You're the boy whom I met in Madam Malkin, right? What's wrong with you?'

I struggle to find the right word; even in this state, I know it's not good to show weakness to a Slytherin, who is very sly, cunning and willing to achieve the goals by any means possible according to Hogwarts: A History. Fortunately, a girl voice from nowhere answers for me.

'He's having a slight case of agoraphobia. Just hold his hand like that and make space for him, he'll be fine'

Immediately I feel the huddling group of First years scatter and Draco's hand tightens around mine. The thundering headache slowly ceases and I look up to thank whoever gave the right prescription.

'Thank you very much' my voice is still weak.

'You're welcome. Hermione Granger' says the girl and shakes my hand. Draco suddenly pulls me back, his eyes narrowing with newfound disgust for the girl… Hermione, who raised an eyebrow in confusion. Thankfully, another debate never starts because the elderly wizard, Albus Dumbledore, rises.

'_Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room._

'_The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble story and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes you._ (1)

'The Sorting ceremony will begin… now'

I feel many eyes stare intently on the ugly tattered object that is the Sorting Hat, which twitches and rips open a mouth near the brim and begins singing about the four Houses and their proper characters. At the short moment at which the Hat pauses, I think about my placement. I honestly can't see me fitting into any House. I have a thirst for knowledge, but only to ensure my survival. I'm not courageous or particularly loyal, though I have a fixed goal to fulfill. Whichever House can help me reach that goal through proper means, I'm content.

Lost in my stream of thoughts, I missed the instruction about how to be sorted.

'Abbott, Hannah!'

A girl with blond little pigtails runs forward and sits on the stool that previously bears the Sorting Hat. A stern-looking witch places the oversize Hat on her head, which quickly covers half her face. The Hat's brim widely opens after one or two seconds and shouts: 'Hufflepuff!'

So that's how we're sorted.

'Granger, Hermione!'

'Ravenclaw!'

'Malfoy, Draco!'

'Slytherin!'

Slytherin seems like the place Draco intended to be sorted in, because the Hat barely touched his well-groomed hair and he looks so pleased with himself.

'Potter, Harry!'

My knees are shaking again as I hear everyone whispers about the scar on my head or about my taped glasses or even about my eyes. Draco, after regained his apathetic appearance, now again has me pinned under his hard stare. I can't help but notice that every staff on the higher table is staring at me as well, particularly the Headmaster and a dark-haired, severe-looking professor. I gaze back into his narrowed eyes and for a moment, I stumble, feeling a pain flared inside my head. The stern witch looks at me with concern but I shake my head and inwardly squash the unwelcome pain. Surprise shows briefly in the professor's eyes before he nodded neutrally, regaining his composure. I step up to the stool and sit down to have the Hat lower down my head.

My jumpy nature almost makes a laugh out of me as I hear a voice inside my head _'Ah, Mister Potter. You're a challenging case, I see… plenty of courage, a nice thirst to prove yourself… loyalty, too… and cunning from someone living on the street…'_

I panicked. The bloody Hat is reading my mind! How else can it know that I've been living on the street?

'_Calm down, boy, I am under an oath to never harm a student… that blasted oath and blasted headmaster…'_

Ah, blackmail material. 'Does this mean you harmed students before?'

'_Guilty as charged, young man. You are the second one to know about this…'_

'Then why on Earth are you still here? You should be banished if you bring harm to students. And who's the first?'

'_I am still here because I am one-of-a-kind. It is not easy to find lingering pieces of the four Founders, you know' the Hat chuckles and I wondered if it registered my rapidly paling face 'About the first one… his name is Tom Marvolo Riddle'_

'I don't know any Riddle'

'_Of course you do not; they are extinct except for this one. I believe he is still out there and will be alive and kicking in a few more years, if… they let him. Enough chitchat, you are here to be sorted, not to ask trivial things'_

'Wait. What exactly is 'harming'?'

''_Harming'? No, young man, I only push students to their true potential, which is so immense in particular cases…'_

'Their true potential is to help them reach their goals, perhaps?' Just a little bit more…

'_Exactly. However, beware, Harry Potter, there have been too many that shared the same goal with you… and only one has reached… You're treating on a thin line of Life and Death…'_

'I know. And I will'

'_Very well. This is not actually 'harming a student', but Hogwarts libraries does not contain that kind of knowledge. You will have to search somewhere else, preferably the twin counterpart of Diagon Alley. Considering your natural gift and your iron will, you will be placed in… Slytherin!'_

I hand over the Hat to the stunned-looking witch and walk back to the Slytherin table, which is the farthest in the left, questions occupying a good part of my mind. The twin counterpart of Diagon Alley must have been Knockturn Alley and I doubt eleven-year-old wizards could freely waltz down there… but what exactly is my 'natural gift'? The Hat made it as if I was placed in Slytherin because of the gift.

I never pay attention to the chilled air suddenly reigning in the Great Hall or the scrutinizing look thrown at me from the other tables. Draco quickly makes a seat for me, which is right next to the Slytherin ghost, but I don't mind. The blonde looks slightly miffed.

'You're Harry Potter and you never told me'

Not knowing how to reply, I resort to a chilling smile.

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_(1): Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone – J. K. Rowling._


End file.
